


Kept Coming Apart

by softlyforgotten



Category: Bandom, Panic At The Disco, The Young Veins
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-22
Updated: 2010-08-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 22:39:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/243354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/softlyforgotten/pseuds/softlyforgotten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon and Ryan fight.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kept Coming Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: sort of dub-con, sort of somnophilia. Read at your own discretion.

They went out to a nicer place than he was used to for dinner, and he spent the first five minutes of it jiggling his knee and darting glances around the room, weirded out by the atmosphere, the other people in there. Eventually, she put her hand on his knee and said, like she was trying not to giggle, "Brendon," and he barked out a laugh and pressed both feet firm and flat against the floor.

It was uncomfortable, though, being out at a place this dressy, not least because Brendon knew uncertainly that it could be seen to mean - to mean _something_ , when he didn't actually see much of anything eventuating out of tonight. Karen was a nice enough girl, and she was pretty hot, but she gave him these looks on occasion that suggested that she thought he was a bit weird, like she was only laughing at his jokes because of who he was. That wasn't a big thing, Brendon thought, not really, if that was the worst thing that ever happened to him - that hot girls would pretend to get his sense of humour - than that was a good enough life for him. Still, though, he actually _liked_ being single, despite the rest of the guys' jokes and teasing, and Ross's fucking self-righteousness. _Not anymore, asshole!_ he thought, a little too gleefully, and then felt bad. He'd liked Keltie, and everything had seemed a hell of a lot easier about six months ago, too.

After dinner, Brendon walked her back to her car. She said, "My roommate, back--" and he said, "Yeah," and kissed her anyway. She was a good kisser, pressing up close against him and grabbing his ass, and the parking lot was pretty much deserted, so Brendon slid his hand under her skirt and after a moment she dragged him into the car. It was okay sex, but the car wasn't nearly big enough for both of them to fit comfortably and Brendon felt a little too aware of the situation from a distant point of view the whole time. It reminded him too much of being in high school, or what being in high school might have been like if he had ever gotten laid.

When they were done, she kissed him slow and lazy, moving with a satisfied kind of grace. Brendon grinned a little against her mouth at that, and she laughed and tucked his hair behind in his ear, short nails scraping not uncomfortably over his skin.

"Thanks for dinner," she said, quietly.

"I'll see you," he told her, and kissed her again. He was never quite sure what was expected of him here, especially from these girls, girls who were probably far too smooth and easily sophisticated and pretty for him to begin to understand.

"Maybe," she said, and then they both got out of the car, Karen so she could hop into the driver's seat, Brendon so he could walk back to the hotel a couple of blocks away, hands in his pockets, whistling.

-

When he got back, he walked past the bar and spotted Jon and Ryan tucked into a corner, talking and laughing. Brendon hesitated in the doorway for a moment, and then Ryan looked up. For a second, his face hardened, and Brendon didn't need to be close to know that his eyes would be darker than usual, and colder too. He and Ryan were meant to be sharing a room tonight, Brendon knew. He wondered if Ryan would ask Jon to trade.

Jon looked over his shoulder and smiled at Brendon, jerking his head towards the table and the glasses on it. Brendon shook his head and waved a hand idly, and then turned away, walking off towards the lift. When he glanced back at the last moment, Ryan wasn't looking at him anymore.

The room was quiet and dark and peaceful. Brendon showered quickly, and then climbed into bed without bothering to dry his hair, even though it was winter and cold and they were on tour, and if he got a cold he'd be officially screwed. He had never, he thought tiredly, been very good at thinking about the consequences of things.

It didn't take him long to fall asleep.

-

He woke up disorientated and trying to remember his dream, because it had clearly been pretty fucking awesome, someone's mouth hot and wet around his cock, and he was really fucking hard, hips pushing helplessly up into the air. Then Ryan said, "Fuck's sake, stay _still_ ," and smacked his hip, sharp enough to not be considered amused or even fond, and he had just enough time when he opened his eyes to see Ryan discarding an empty condom wrapper.

"What?" he gasped, but Ryan didn't say anything, just straddled his hips and slid down slowly, head thrown backward. Brendon made a rough, involuntary sound, and Ryan was breathing hard, pushing down until Brendon was all the way in and Ryan just rocked his hips for a minute, head thrown back, beads of sweat running down his throat.

Ryan must have stretched himself, of course, but he was still really fucking tight and Brendon couldn't just - Ryan had to _move_ , it was too much, that long moment of not-quite-stasis, Ryan making tiny, hitching noises, caught on a breath. Brendon swallowed hard, trying to clear his head enough to try and make sense of some of this, any of this. He stared at Ryan, suddenly so foreign and distant and unknowable in the faint moonlight streaming across the room through the window (Brendon had closed the curtains before he went to bed, he'd thought), and then Ryan looked down at him and bared his teeth in a snarl, before pushing up again, and then slamming back down hard, twisting his hips sharply.

"Fuck," Brendon said, and Ryan did it _again_ , and Brendon struggled to wake up properly, because he had a horrible feeling that this was another thing, this wasn't easy, this hadn't ever been easy and it never would be, and at the very least he should be awake enough to be completely aware of what was going on. Still, he didn't think he could be blamed; if Ryan would just refrain from _molesting him in his sleep_ like a normal person then all would be well and good, too.

Brendon reached out and curved his hands over Ryan's hips, dug his fingernails in hard, until he could see the white marks on Ryan's skin and Ryan was twisting and panting harshly, mouth red and open, cock hard and leaking against his stomach. Brendon loosened his grip slightly and then helped Ryan move, shifting his hands around to cup Ryan's ass, stroking lightly just behind where his cock was pushing into Ryan (Ryan gasped, looking down at Brendon with an expression that was almost surprised). When Ryan hesitated for a moment Brendon tugged and brought him back down hard, fingers digging into his hips again, hard, and tomorrow, Brendon thought, tomorrow, Ryan would have bruises.

Ryan seemed displeased with Brendon's attempt to take control, though; he shifted slow and a little dirty, twisting out of Brendon's grasp and rolling his hips down. He was smiling, too, this careless, pleased smirk of a smile, like he knew exactly what he'd gotten, and it had been what he'd wanted, and he'd won. Brendon stared up at him and felt something heavy and hot and furious in his throat, rushing up at him, like he wanted to yell or punch something or maybe be sick, and instead he just arched his hips up, hitting Ryan at the right angle to make him shudder and groan.

He pushed up on his elbows and Ryan made a startled noise, both of them awkward for a moment until they regained their balance, but then Ryan worked out what was going on and leaned down at the same time that Brendon reached up, their mouths knocking together hard and off-balance still, more biting than kissing, until their lips were red and swollen and they were breathless. Brendon shifted his hips insistently even though they couldn't move properly, not from that angle, and Ryan wrapped his hand around his own cock, squeezing the base. Brendon knocked Ryan's hand away a little clumsily, grabbing at his wrist and digging his fingers in, and kissed him again.

Ryan laughed, and then he said, "Do you want to leave fingerprints, Brendon? Do you? You want to bite me?" He laughed again and Brendon shoved at him, shoved him away, shoved him off, until Ryan pulled off of his cock with a stupid, surprised squawking noise, and tumbled to the side. Brendon moved fast, sitting up and shoving Ryan over, into the middle of the bed (and thank fucking God for hotel beds of decent size), and then he crawled over Ryan, crouched above him on his hands and knees.

"You're laughing at _me_?" he asked. "Seriously?" He curled a hand around Ryan's cock and Ryan moaned, arched up into his grip, and Brendon laughed quietly and took his hand away again, slipped two fingers inside him, twisting them. Ryan thrashed a little, eyes closed and hair messy against the sheets, and let his legs fall further apart, pushing down against Brendon's hand. Brendon didn't think he'd ever get used to this, to how much Ryan _wanted_ it, wanted everything, until Brendon felt like there was going to be nothing left of him, Ryan hungry and grasping and always, always furious.

He pulled his fingers out, maybe a bit too rough, and then lined himself up again, and Ryan breathed in sharply once. Brendon dropped his head and passed his mouth just lightly over Ryan's throat, tasting the salt heat of it; he thought, _is Ryan shaking?_ , and pushed in. Ryan mumbled something low and incoherent under his breath and Brendon moved back and then fucked in hard, shifting to find the right spot, grinning vicious and pleased when Ryan shuddered and moaned.

Ryan wrapped his legs up around Brendon's hips and said, "Brendon, Brendon," words hitching over a moan, pushing back onto him, arching up and reaching blindly for skin, and Brendon touched him hard, hands skimming and pressing down over Ryan's skin, and fuck _yes_ he wanted to leave bruises, and know they were there tomorrow, wanted to watch the way Ryan would move, hesitant and a little stumbling, and know that Ryan couldn't ignore that, even if he could ignore Brendon.

"Jesus," Brendon mumbled, and then tried to regain his breath a little, looked up. "You're something, Ryan Ross, I - what if I hadn't woken up, what would you have done, would you have still done it, still fucked yourself on me--"

"Shut up," Ryan gasped out, and Brendon reached down between them to wrap his hand around Ryan's cock, stroking him quickly. Ryan bit his lip again, face flushed.

"You would have," Brendon said. "Yeah, for all your - you _would_ have, Ryan." He paused and added breathlessly, "You're a bit of a slut, you know?"

"Seriously," Ryan said, eyes screwed shut. "Shut _up_."

Brendon laughed harshly. "Yeah," he said, "Yeah, you would've," and then he thought about it, thought about Ryan working himself up and down like that with Brendon only reacting in an unconscious way, Ryan getting himself off like that, and maybe Brendon would only wake up as he was coming, wake up to sparks behind his eyes and Ryan clenching tight around his cock.

"Fuck," he said, and slammed in hard one more time. He came with his hips jerking, rhythm lost, deep inside Ryan, dropping his head down and mouthing at Ryan's collarbone, wet and shapeless and almost, almost gentle. For a moment, he lay just like that, head fuzzy, suddenly reminded of the fact that not very long ago he'd been _asleep_. Ryan only left him alone for a bare minute, though, before he made an impatient noise and Brendon said, "Yeah, yeah," and pulled out, carefully this time. He tied the condom and chucked it haphazardly into the waste bin across the room, and then he turned back to Ryan.

"Come _on_ ," Ryan said, reaching down for his own cock, but Brendon pushed his hand away and jerked him off with quick, rough strokes of his own hand, while Ryan panted into Brendon's upper arm, and then came all over his stomach. He sagged back onto the mattress, apparently boneless, and Brendon took that as his cue to fall over him, tucking his head in the crook between Ryan's shoulder and neck, lay there just breathing for a while, until the night lost the fierce, whirlwind-like sense of urgency, until Brendon's head could be _still_.

It was only a very little while, of course. After a moment, Ryan shoved at his shoulder and mumbled, "Hey," and Brendon moved, shifted over to the side. The bed was large enough that they could lie without touching, but Brendon could feel the heat of Ryan's body, could feel his goddamn _come_ on Brendon's skin, and it felt like things were always too far or too close, never, ever right.

"I'm not," Ryan said in a low voice, after a while. Brendon lifted his head and raised his eyebrows, knew that the expression on his face was too mocking, too cruel, and didn't care, anyway, and Ryan flushed but continued stubbornly. "A slut," he said. "I'm not."

"Okay," Brendon said, rolling his eyes. "Whatever."

Ryan glared, rolling over until his back was turned to Brendon. "Anyway," he said, "Anyway, even if I am, so are you. At least I don't fuck two different people within a couple of hours."

Brendon didn't say anything to that, didn't know what to say. Instead he looked tiredly at the line of Ryan's back and thought, _we've gotta fix this, soon_ , because they were moving quickly from destroying what little friendship they had left to the _band_ , and also, Brendon thought, also, he was maybe a little too used to being able to fuck Ryan, now, maybe a little too knowledgeable in the sounds Ryan made and the ways he looked, and how much _he_ liked that, and there was no turning back from this, Brendon thought, there was no way to get past it, but he wished to God that they could move past this dangling, awful precipice and just find the road beyond, wherever it went.

He looked at Ryan's back, and the odd, twisted way that he was lying, his hand flung out awkwardly behind him, fingers curled slightly like they were halfway into a fist, ready to attack like every other bit of Ryan was. Brendon thought about the girl earlier tonight, and then the one last week, and he thought about Kelly in Ohio and Tegan in Chicago, and he thought about the blonde girls Ryan wandered off with and the way they didn't look like Keltie much at all, really. He thought about the time Ryan had gone off at a bar with a guy, tall with dark hair and eyes, and the pleased, satisfied way he had looked at Ryan, the way he had loomed over Ryan even as Ryan led him away, and how Brendon had paced around their room that night furious and itching with something horrible and relentless under his skin, and the way he had fucked Ryan when Ryan had gotten back, up against the wall, and the broken sounds Ryan had made.

After a moment, he brushed his fingers against Ryan's palm and then slid their hands together, linking their fingers. He leaned forward and brushed a kiss so light it was barely there against Ryan's shoulder blade. "Go to sleep," he said, and Ryan squeezed his hand, just once.


End file.
